


to know there is enough

by dejame



Category: Druck | SKAM (Germany)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Short One Shot, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 16:30:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18608278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dejame/pseuds/dejame
Summary: prompt: you know those high school AUs where one person leaves a drawing under their desk and the other person finds it and adds on to it and that's how they communicate before they meet each other? that, but with david and matteo





	to know there is enough

**Author's Note:**

> @xavierdolans is the GOAT

When their Biology teacher says “Biology can be fun!” he says it like this: “Biology??? Can Be _FUN!_ ”

Matteo’s too high for this. Or rather, judging by Jonas’ easy smile, Matteo's not high enough for this.

He looks up at the clock on the wall.

There it's metal hands say 8:29. It feels early enough to be the beginning of the world. He can practically hear God demand there be light.

He looks down at the desk where he sits.

There in pencil, in lazily scrawled script, says _I hate this class._ It feels like the beginning of something that will never end.

Their teacher says, “Potential energy.” He says, “That's a body’s energy possessed by virtue, by how it relates to other bodies; it stresses within itself. It has an electric charge.”

Matteo and Jonas lock eyes. Without words, they say to each other, “I have no idea what the actual fuck is going on right now.”

Matteo takes out his own pencil. He uses it to trace out _same_ underneath the letters.

* * *

He is high again the next day. He almost forgets. He remembers. He checks. His writing—all of the writing—is gone.

* * *

“I can tell I lost some of you guys earlier this week.” Mr. Teacher laughs. Matteo never learned his name. He was high on the first day of class, on the day Mr. Teacher signed his real name on the board.

Mr. Teacher laughs like a person who was bullied for having that laugh in grade school. He laughs like he laughed the same way anyways. Matteo is high and he decides that Mr. Teacher is regardless.

Mr. Teacher says, “So we’ll make this personal. You don't like learning about the Body? Fine. Ugh! Gross, right?” He makes a face. Jonas mimics said face. The students who see it laugh. “So we won't learn about the Body. We’ll learn about your bodies.” But he says it like this: “We’ll learn about _your_ Bodies!”

Mr. Teacher says that their bodies are very important and very special. Mr. Teacher says their bodies are extravagant and high maintenance. Mr. Teacher says they must take care of themselves. They must love themselves. They are beautiful.

On Matteo’s desk: a drawing of what must be God creating what can only be Frankenstein's monster. It’s caption: _ugly ugly ugly_. Matteo frowns.

“God’s a woman,” Jonas whispers when he sees it. Matteo rolls his eyes. Jonas is serious in the way only a non-sober person can be serious. Expressive and passionate. “No, she is. She is. I asked Amira. She’s smart; she knows. And Hanna, too.”

Fine, Matteo thinks. He erases the more masculine attributes of God: this beard, his harsh lines, his sharp face. He replaces them: long, flowing hair; mellow curves; soft cheeks. He tries to erase _ugly ugly ugly,_  but there’s no eraser left on his pencil. He crosses the repeated word out instead.

* * *

“Now, on average, it takes about 72 different muscles to produce speech.” Mr. Teacher observes his class. “If we were to make strength relative to size, then that would mean your tongue is the strongest muscle—MATTEO! JONAS! Wake up!” The boys wake up. “Your tongue is the strongest muscle in your body.” Mr. Teacher points to his mouth. “Be careful how you speak to one another. This is your toughest weapon.”

Matteo checks the upper right corner of his desk. The drawing is gone. Instead: _Don't fucking change my sketches._

“Damaging,” Mr. Teacher remarks.

* * *

“Of course gender is a tricky subject today,” Mr. Teacher comments. Even while stoned, Matteo can tell Jonas is prepared to battle. “But not if you're a scientist,” Mr. Teacher finishes. Jonas relaxes a bit.

Mr. Teacher says, “Inherent differences between men and women are primarily attributed to evolution. However, I'm sure we can all agree that society has gone a little overboard in saying which genders can do which things.” He points to the students in reference. “For instance, I'm sure the thoughtful Mr. Augustin knows more feminist theory than most of us in the room. I'm also quite sure Ms. Winter could destroy him in an arm wrestling match.”

In response, Mia mimes boxing at him. Jonas is too stoned to recreate the gesture in response. A few classmates giggle. “Some stereotypes seem to be based off of more minute findings. For example, women tend to blink twice as often as men. This means renewed tear film; ‘girls cry more than boys.’ However, this also results in less debris and helps the eye focus. I don't know about you guys, but the women in my life have always seemed far more observant than the men, than me.”

Today’s doodle is an eye, big and detailed. When Matteo looks closer, he sees that the borders and cornea are made up of tiny Mars and Venus symbols.

Matteo gasps, “Cool.”

“It _is_ cool, Mr. Florenzi, though I fear you're not referring to my lesson.” Mr. Teacher approaches his desk. Mr. Teacher sees the drawing. “Did you do this?”

Matteo’s like, “I wish.” Mr. Teacher can tell he's genuine.

* * *

Mr. Teacher begins the next class with a sad sort of passion. Disappointment to the extreme. “It has come to my attention that a student has been defacing school property.” He sighs. “No need to be alarmed. I believe I've caught the culprit, but I warn you all now: if I catch any vandalists here, they will join him in today’s detention.”

Matteo is greatful. Besides smoking with Jonas, he never has afternoon plans.

* * *

The school district is well-funded to the point where it can hire many teachers of advanced degrees and fervent knowledge. It is not well-funded to the point where it can pay these instructors overtime.

Thus, detention is simple and basic. You show up in the auditorium, you add your name to a roster, and you sit there for an hour while whoever was unlucky enough to be assigned to work that night watches you in between grading papers.

Such an unlucky person sat at the edge of the auditorium stage with a list. Matteo tells her his name. She asks what he's here for. He shrugs. She rolls her eyes.

Matteo waits by her.

The students file in, one by one. Matteo thinks about just going home. Finally:

“And why are you here?”

“Vandalism, I guess.” Matteo looks up. He thinks, Yeah, he's definitely the type. Gorgeous and mysterious and cool. His hair is pitch black and styled in a way that means he doesn’t want you to know he styles it. He has a septum ring. He is hot.

Matteo sneaks out.

* * *

“And now for my favorite,” Mr. Teacher says. Like: “Now, my _FAVORITE._ ” Jonas tries and fails to conceal his laughter. Mr. Teacher says, by way of introduction, “The Heart.”

There is no drawing today. In the upper-right corner, Matteo sketches a crude attempt at a chicken. To help with identifying it, he circles out a speaking bubble and studiously writes _bawk bawk._

“The force behind our lives. The thing that can start and end wars, that influences the very poetry you're studying in your literature classes. I am so lucky—” like: LUCKY “—to be instructing the hearts of Germany’s future. Really, I'm honored.”

Matteo captions the chicken: _you._

* * *

Matteo rushes to his seat. He scans his desk. In the upper-right corner: nothing.

Mr. Teacher: “Your left lung is smaller than your right specifically to make room for your heart, to ensure it has enough space to do what it needs to do. And, yes, Mr. Augustin, that will be on the test, so write it down.” Jonas blushes.

“Really, it is amazing that your bodies are molded the way they are. You are specific. And with the way we romanticize hearts and love...I don’t know. It touches me.” Mr. Teacher wipes at his eyes. The students collectively huff in annoyance. “You have to give love room, you know? You have to be okay with the distance.”

Jonas asks, deadpan, “Is that gonna be on the test?”

* * *

Matteo studies with Amira in the library. He learns the heart beats 100 million times in a lifespan. He gets distracted and thinks of dark hair and brown skin and nose piercings. He thinks, 99.9 million.

* * *

Matteo sketches out a middle finger on the upper-right corner of his desk.

* * *

The next day, in small, scared (and sacred) handwriting: _is this supposed to be a hand?_

He writes back, _Grow up._

* * *

“I'm looking at all of you now,” Mr. Teacher shudders. “I know that, in a couple of years, if I see you again, you will be entirely different people. Literally different.”

Matteo’s desk has a downward arrow on it.

“Different taste buds, different atoms, different mucus linings for your stomach.” A few groans. “Sorry. Science cares not for prettiness.”

Matteo writes _???._

Mr. Teacher says, “You know—” And the class groans. Nevertheless, he continues: “When you meet someone and settle down and conceive a child, as some of you no doubt will do one day, I hope you remember change. With your partner and with your children and with anyone else you decide to spend the rest of your life with. The goal is not to stay in stasis or to relive your favorite memories. No, you change together.”

* * *

_As in Look Down, dumbass_

Matteo glares at the writing. Matteo looks down.

Oh. There’s a note inside his desk.

“You lose about 100 bones from birth to adulthood. They fuse together to make you solid. Remarkable.”

Matteo sucks in a breath.

A body—a _BODY,_  Matteo thinks—in pencil. One half naked and delicate and exposed. It’s eye is closed; it’s hand is tightened into a fist. The other side is a diagram. Carbon blood flows to lead organs in loops and tangles. Bones reach and flex toward one another, desperate for connection. The shading is so intense and deep that the black lead seeps on to the pads of Matteo’s fingers when he touches it.

“I mean, your body just knows—” said like: _knoooows_ “—what to do and how to do it. You needn’t even ask! Stupendous.”

Matteo lays the drawing face-down on the desk and smears it across the surface. An absolute mess.

“I think it just goes to show when things are meant to be together, they will be together. They'll know; they'll feel it.”

* * *

An unlucky teacher asks why he's here. “Vandalism,” Matteo says, and he waits until he sees the Boy (Hot Boy, Cool Boy, Artsy Boy) enter and say, “Vandalism,” as well.

As the students walk to their seats, Matteo joins his side. He matches his pace. He assumes, “You sit in the back corner by the window in Biology.” But he's not guessing. He knoooows it. He feels it.

The Boy stops walking. Asks, “Did you ruin the drawing I gave you?” Oops.

Matteo’s like, “Yeah…”

“You got us both in detention.”

Again, sheepish: “...Yeah.” But The Boy is smiling like he can't help but to, smiling like he knows. Matteo smiles. He knows, he knows, he knows. “I'm Matteo.”

The Boy says he's “David.”

Matteo can practically hear it: let there be light.

**Author's Note:**

> title and science factoids from the song human by tank and the bangas


End file.
